


Rome, Open Thieves

by Azriella_Helsing



Category: Bicycle Thieves, Mama Roma, Rome Open City
Genre: Crossposted on Fanfiction.net, Flaneur!Romeletto, M/M, Prostitute!Bruno, Smut, smut begins in later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 10:38:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16617371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azriella_Helsing/pseuds/Azriella_Helsing
Summary: Romeletto meets Bruno. Typical boy meets boy. Gayness ahead.





	Rome, Open Thieves

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: These movies are in Italian. I don’t speak Italian. If I mess up the characters, or anything else, that is probably why.

Romeletto walked the streets of Rome that he used to know like the back of his hands. Now, it seemed everything he knew as a child had been turned upside down. In 1945, things had been simple. Talk exclusively in Marxist quotes, bomb the Fascists, run with the boys before you got caught. It was 1961 and Rome was unrecognizable from those days. He was no longer a small boy. The Economic Miracle had left him and many others of the working class behind. He spent his days and whatever cash he could acquire wandering Rome, yearning for something, or perhaps someone. Anything to give him the purpose he had possessed as a boy. Anything was better than this life, abstracted and seen through screens and shop windows, boasting technological innovations that he could scarcely afford. People in the wealthy districts of Rome, who used to own bicycles, now owned Vespas and refrigerators. He himself did not even have a coffee maker. 

Romeletto sighed, then dug through his pockets for some crumpled up lire he had stashed there two hours ago before leaving his flooded, shoddy apartment. He had enough for a cup of coffee for himself, and perhaps a little extra. He may be able to afford one of Rome’s famous pastries, if he went to one of the lesser known cafes. Shrugging, he put his lire back in his pocket before someone could steal it. Strolling down the avenue, he came to a cafe that had seen better days. The paint on the shop windows and signs were peeling, and the cafe tables both inside and outside were looking the worse for wear. Wilted flowers graced the vases on the battered tables, and the whole sight was a sorry one indeed. Perfection.

Romeletto waltzed into the cafe, which was surprisingly not so busy at this hour of late morning. Then he stopped. Behind the counter, there stood an older man, who was speaking to a younger man in his late teens. If the older man was still distinguished in his later years, the man he was speaking to was exquisite. He resembled nothing so much as a character in a classical Da Vinci painting, despite his well-worn suit and exasperated demeanor. Romeletto paused close to the two, who were apparently arguing.

“Father, I cannot come to work for you! I have my own ways of earning money! I put bread on the table for you and Mama! There is nothing more to be said!”

“Bruno, my son,” the old man was saying, “Your ways of running around Rome for money are no way to lead a good life! Mama and I worry about you, coming home at all hours of the night with money you get working odd jobs for strangers-”

“How I make money is none of your business, Father! I put more food on the table than you can with this dump you call a cafe! I am leaving!” Bruno replied, then turned, running smack into Romeletto. Romeletto almost gasped. If Bruno had looked like a Da Vinci painting from the back, it was nothing compared to the beauty of his face. He had the most divine eyes Romeletto had ever seen. His lips looked like they were made to be kissed. Romeletto had never had strong feelings for girls. They were vapid and shallow creatures more often than not, which he knew from experience with the easiest girl in Rome, Bruna. He saw this creature, this Bruno, and knew instinctively that he had to have him. 

“What are you staring at?” Bruno spat.

“N-nothing. I’m sorry. Can I buy you a cup of coffee to make up for running into you?” Romeletto was having trouble being coherent. Bruno was perfect in every physical way, like an angel statue, normally seen from afar, who causes revelations in the viewer when seen up close.

Bruno threw his head back and laughed. “Not very smooth, are you?” 

Romeletto spluttered, flustered, and Bruno’s smile grew kinder.

“I was the one who ran into you,” Bruno said. “I will buy you a cup of coffee.”

Romeletto thanked Bruno profusely, and Bruno took his hand and led him to a table near the back wall. While they waited for the coffee, Bruno adjusted his chair so that his back was to his father, and Romeletto was partially hidden from view. 

“So, what’s your name?” Bruno asked.

“Rome-Romeletto.” Romeletto replied nervously. What was he thinking, surely this boy would hate him if he knew what Romeletto was thinking about him! He was thinking about taking Bruno’s face in his hands, then walking the streets of Rome, arm-in-arm. 

Bruno’s next words were said in a whisper with a kind face. “Have you ever been with a man before?”

Romeletto was stunned. No one was this bold, surely! What was this, some kind of joke?

“I’m not joking,” said Bruno. “I’m only asking because you are not being subtle with your eyes. But you have not answered my question. Have you ever been with a man before, Romeletto?” 

Romeletto, still in shock, slowly shook his head. 

Bruno’s grin turned positively predatory. “My place or yours?” He asked Romeletto.

Romeletto replied shakily that they should go to Bruno’s place, as his own was flooded. Bruno threw down a few lire to pay for the coffee that still had not arrived. He then linked arms with Romeletto, for all the world like they were old friends.


End file.
